I chose my independence

It is a morning again, I know for sure that is one more dawn that I need to live, may be by force, not by choice. The cuckoo seems to be overtly euphemistic about the day for it. It can’t resist living with the fact that it is another day it has got to see. I wonder if It would ever feel it was a misery to live another day, just like it’s so called “master” with whom it doesn’t have to put up a freedom struggle.
My chores for the day are pretty simple, albeit a bit unconventional for the middle class reader right now, who would be with their diet coke to check their calorie intake.

I go to the well, it is parched with thirst. Probably I love going to the well just before the sun throws its full might with full beauty, because it saves me the look of my own self in the left out water in the well. I take stock of the water left and off to my asset, to my friend I go to work it out. My asset as they call is 2acres of land. On paper it says 8, but 2 is where I get to my daily business. The remaining 6 is with one of the zameendar’s right from my birth, which was kept as a mortgage by my, self dependent father, gutsy father, the same day when he went to never return.
My land looks just like me , as it attires the same unclad dirty look that I possess. It is covered with some reclusive sartorial. It is dry, dusty, and sometimes gives me a feeling even the nature has given up on hope on its own self. The wind never seem to blow its way, depriving it of a friend, Clouds were last seen when it cried for 10 minutes. I sit with it, both in silence, because of the shame within both of us that we have been of no use for each other, when the world thinks we are best of friends.
My daughter is cooking, and I am lost in thoughts, as to how am I going to marry her off in the next week to Radhe Shyams elder son. The groom is about 16, Radha, the bride is 11. It is already late for her and I am contemplating the amount that Radhe Shyam will quote as dowry for my daughter as she is already 11, and how am I going to honor the commitment. But the thought that I have my dry, handicapped friend to back me off gives me a sigh of relief.
My son is just 7, he is not yet ready for the profession, because of his fragile and under nourished body mass. Yes I take the responsibility for his malnourishment. He is fit for education, but that is not on the priority for me, because, I will save that much of money, for Radha’s wedding. And any way education is for city dwellers, not for us. There is a school in here, but that is open only for wedding of rich Zameendars, or for free lunch that gets organized, when there are flags all over the places, lights speakers, when great people in envious clothes come and speak and address us. When they say, they will give us free water, electricity and fertilizers. All that might come or might not see the light of the day, but the day is special because we get drinks and food.
My wife, Banno died recently, although don’t know what was wrong with her. She never woke up, and there was a small, empty glass bottle, that accompanied for the last night. It has been a regular sight of mourning in the village, where people never woke up, and all that was left behind is the bottle. May be that is why the bottle is called, Salvation.
I sit with my land, thinking probably this would be the last time, I get to be with my lost friend as it would be friend of the same Zamindar, as I am in need of the money to marry Radha out and also to repay the Exorbitant sum of money that the Zamindar has lent me. But it gives me satisfaction that my handicapped friend will regain its lost parts of body, which were in the custody of the Zameendar. It will again be 8 acres. A Whole body united.
White cars, lot of them drive through the lanky and dusty fields of my village. I follow, thinking it might be beneficial for us, because it is a ritual as always, twice a year they come, they talk and they make us think after all they are there to help us. I run, my lungs do not cooperate with my legs, but I do not give up. The venue is already filled with people like me. Their odor reminds me of my own self. Greatness of this place is where people do not show off their new clothes or attires, because no one wears them, but where people show off, the ribs and bones sprawling out of their skin, to prove their misery. “More the misery, the more help you might receive.”
The promises are made, Loan has been waived, for us, no one is elated, because all eyes are on the verandah, where they give us free food and drinks.
I take the drink and take the food back home for my Children.
Amidst all this, one thing I saw was a cloth fluttering. I have experienced this sight twice a year since I have attained adulthood. They said it was our Country’s flag, but there was also another flag fluttering nearby, which kept changing every time. It was such a beautiful sight to see the flag flutter at its whole pride. I ask them, why today. And they say it is Independence day for us today, when we got independence 62 years back from the “Angrez “

I laugh at myself for being so ignorant about the fact that we are “Independent”, Independent of the misery of dictatorship of Angrez.
It was at stroke of midnight that we got our independence.
Independence means, freedom, independence means freedom of your own choice, freedom of your act, freedom to do things you want to do. Independence means being selfish for once and to chose your own way. I laugh again.
I am reminded of my wife, Banno. I am proud of her, as she understood what it means to be Independent. I am also reminded of the freedom struggle and the weapon in the glass bottle that gave her the independence.
The glass bottle is not only her weapon but also mine, the food reaches home, dusk sets in and the day is over.
For once, I laugh at nature and its surly “Night”, because I am not going to witness another misery and another dawn.
I laugh out so loud although my muscles ache by that.
I have a new friend to accompany my freedom struggle, the glass bottle.
At stroke of Midnight, I will choose my own INDEPENDENCE.